Maybe Next Time

2010-12-13T23:59:00.000-08:00

Well it is official. Cliff Lee has once again stolen the show as to where he is going to be playing. I mean who wouldn't want to go back and have Charlie Manual as their coach? The guy has been one of the most successful managers in baseball over the past 5 years or so (how's it taste, Cleveland?) and he has taken the Phillies to the show more than once. Bottom line is, money was never an issue here and I am glad to see he made his decision that way. Obviously as a true blue member of Red Sox Nation I would have loved to see him under my Christmas tree in a few weeks in a Sox uniform. But I will take the victory gained through signing the big name players they did, and take great joy in knowing the best pitcher in baseball (currently) will not be wearing a Yankee uniform anytime soon. It really does go to show that money can't buy everything, and that there really are still a number of players out there who are not just playing for the money. Rock on, Cliff Lee! Have a great round II in Philly and see you in October!

Calling All Angels

2010-08-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

"Prayin' for it all day and fightin' for it all night, give us just one victory and we'll be alright."

Bottom of the 7th and a runner on first. Two dead. A single can't win it, a double would be pushing it, triples are the hardest hits in the game, and a homerun would mean finding your inner Roy Hobbs for the first time in your life. The inning is over. The kid's been throwing lights out baseball all day, noway is he going to allow this inning to cave in. No more rally caps, no more "down in the valley", and no more cowbells. It is either going to happen, or it isn't. If it goes to extras, we have no pitching to win it. The end is either 3/4 of the way around the bases or 1/2 of an inning away. We are going to have to figure this out the hard way; single moves him to second, and another single may or may not win it so lets bank on a double to the gap to get him to third. Hitter calls time, steps out, and then it happens. Chest swipe, ear pull, hat pull, hand tap.

Do you believe in fate? If you do not, then you have either never done anything with your life or you are just a natural freak at what you do, and everything comes way too easy for you in life. Do you ever feel as if things happen in your life for a reason, good or bad? That even in times of adversity, you were supposed to be in that spot to show what you are made of. That even when the cards are shuffled, scattered, hidden, and thrown to the floor, fate is going to help you out. When in a time of need, no matter the circumstance, we look for a God that we may or may not believe in any other time. We are all guilty of it. On August 9, 2003 I became a member of that club.

The day started normal, or as normal as it had any chance of ever being. Everyone was high off the big win from the day before, coming back from 11 runs down and 3 outs left to go before a mercy rule exit after 30 straight games of dominance. But a few miracles, an entire universe realignment, and a comeback win later we found ourselves somewhere nobody but Bruce had ever been: playing on the last day or the last round on the last weekend of the season. 31-0, playing in our hometown and hardly the hometown favorite. We were hated by all but the ones in relation to the team. Jealousy, talk, and gossip always filled the air at a Traps game. Better yet, it filled the air at any game Bruce Nordquist was involved in. Just five years into his head coaching career and already a marked man among the concession stand crazies. From a hot headed know-it-all to an above and beyond mentor for children, the transformation was in the past and this season was the beginning of what would become and will forever be one of the greatest rides of all time. But still, the critics remained and unfortunately on this day, they outnumbered the believers. But as he teaches his kids to keep fighting on, these people are invisible to him when between the lines. And on August 9, 2003 while trying to fight off the ghosts of Stow Chicken Manor and his 1974 runner up season, everybody got to watch it unfold.

Quez is on the hill today, and after saving Logan's ass in the semi-finals yesterday it is a reassuring feeling to know that our ace is well rested in any case of trouble today. One bad outing yesterday after giving up just a single run all season gives all reason for a coaching staff to not hesitate when bringing him back in. But Quez was so automatic yesterday, we should not need Logan. False.

The game tangles, twists, and turns throughout. Both teams exchanging blows in turn with one another. And after getting into early trouble, Quez proves there is no greater force on the field than the game itself. No automatics here, folks. Logan is coming in. Both knowing that without each other, 31-0 and a potential 33-0 perfect season (pending a future makeup game) would be far out of reach. They both understand that although the team is full of good players at each position, they are the backbone being looked upon in any time of need. They are the hope that everyone else is looking for. But where do they find their hope?

I have always believed that what separates a good player from a great one is their overall experience, knowledge of, and attitude towards a tough situation. You can easily tell who is which when the situation arises. Fight and flight take place and each player responds one way or the other. The great ones reach out when the good ones look for the ropes, great ones swing back when the good ones stand there and bleed. The greatest are truly the greatest because they hold a sense of accountability not just for others as a teammate but for themselves, a set of expectations higher than any coach could ever set for a player. Great players do not go looking for hope, they create it; becoming the distributor of hope and desire for the rest of hte team. It simply can't be coached, it is within. So when the bottom of the 7th arises and Logan and Quez are due up second and third in the inning, it should be quite apparent that the game is going to be decided right now without any questions or doubts, right? Wrong.

After the first two hitters reach base with ease, Quez takes the plate. The game is over. We've got speed on second and anything that clears the infield is sending us to the promised land. But a bunt makes sense here, and why the hell wouldn't you bunt with the fastest guy in the state only needing to go about 54 feet? A bunt here would be crazy to NOT call. Quez's speed added with the pressure of the situation would cause a mass confusion among the infield. The ball would fly and basepaths would become a merry-go-round. But as Quez takes the plate Bruce turns around to face his council, his braintrust, his guidance to all that come his way. A tree.

No bunt. Quez swings away. Pindrop silence echoes the park. Everything turns slow. Aluminum. Loud aluminum. Very loud aluminum meets leather. Beauty. This ball is never coming back. Runners take off. This is it! We did it! But before Traps nation is even able to react in the split seconds after contact, the ball finds a glove and makes a home in it. "Back!" Too late, double play at second. The game has turned. Fuck fate.

Read on.

Bottom of the 7th and a runner on first. Two dead. A single can't win it, a double would be pushing it, triples are the hardest hits in the game, and a homerun would mean finding your inner Roy Hobbs for the first time in your life. The inning is over. The kid's been throwing lights out baseball all day, noway ishe goign to allow this inning to cave in. No more rally caps, no more "down in the valley", and no more cowbells. It is either going to happen, or it isn't. If it goes to extras, we have no pitching to win it. The end is either 3/4 of the way around the bases or 1/2 of an inning away. We are going to have to figure this out the hard way; single moves him to second, and another single may or may not win it so lets bank on a double to the gap to get him to third. Hitter calls time, steps out, and then it happens. Chest swipe, ear pull, hat pull, hand tap. The steal is on. First pitch, Logan breaks for second towards what will surely be a split second play. His slide will determine it. "Down!" Ball sails to center, can you believe it?! "GO, GO, GO!" He heads for third for a standup trip and a high five from Bruce, right? He turns it on and goes through whatever sign was being given. Centerfielder has a cannon and is coming up with the cheese. This is it. Here we go. Win or lose right here, and there are no victories from losing this. "DOWN!" Ball doesn't sail this time but never finds its target. Centerfielder slips and falls, ball is still rolling and we are all jumping. Bedlam at home plate. Party in the stands. Disappointment in the concession stand. August 9, 2003: Champions at last.

This goes out to all who ever wore the Traps name. 7 years ago today a dynasty started into what became a group of kids turned young men who were able to prove that even in the biggest faces of adversity, anything is possible. Thank you guys for all you have taught me. I will forever be proud of everything you accomplish in life, on a field, or at home.

Always,
Ryan

The Juggernaut

Maybe Next Time

Calling All Angels